Local Flavor
by zedonkulouslybashful
Summary: Zevran is in Denerim at the behest of local Crow boss, Master Ignacio. He gives the elf two tasks. While on one of his assignments, Zevran meets a very pious Mikayla Tabris. She inadvertently becomes involved in the second by way of excellent Antivan massage (and then some). The second assignment? Gather information so the Crows can assassinate King Cailan before Ostagar.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: These are borrowed, Bioware-owned characters.

**Prompt gist, Enchanter T.I.M**: AU where Zevran is [working with Ignacio and Cesar] in Denerim to assassinate Cailan. [While getting leads on how to infiltrate the castle,] seduces Tabris before her wedding.

**Prompt, additional 1**: dragon age - k ink . live journal 8033 . ? thread = 39955553 # t 39955553

**Prompt, additional 1 gist**: Zevran is a masseur. The [future] Warden is stressed out and gets a massage [as part of her pre-wedding pampering]. A few more appointments later, she gets a massage (and then some) before her wedding.

**Prompt, addtional 2**: dragon age - k ink . live journal 328 . ? thread = 802632

**Prompt, addtional 2 gist**: Soris is having cold feet before his and the to-be-Warden's joint wedding.

* * *

**Notes**: Another belated (severely) Valentine's fic, this time for Enchanter T.I.M. Folding in the k!meme prompts because they fit and, well, I'm a k!meme imp. ;]

Also, this is my first custom warden fic. I have it (maybe unfoundedly?) in my head that custom wardens are distracting to readers. For example my Wardens, when I play, are almost always red-heads. Yours? ...That's what I thought. But I didn't want this F!Tabris to be confused with my Human Titles F!Tabris; they are very different people from each other as you'll soon see. (Going to leave the physical description of Soris' future wife up to your imagination though. ..She...looks a lot like you? *cough-wink*)

Mikayla Tabris = a mix of Isabela and Pilar Rubio:  
: / / . pictures . gi . zim bio Celebrities + Attend + 2008 + Cosmopolitan + Awards + . j p g

**AU Warning**: In this fic, Rendon hired Ignacio to assassinate Cailan. Ignacio, as the local Crow boss, then delegated it to Zevran. Pretend the marketplace is a LOT larger too.

Also, I don't know how old Anora was (or if she even was yet) when Loghain became Teryn, I'm flat making stuff up about Adaia, and Shianni and Soris' backgrounds have some holes that I'm filling.

* * *

-1-

The simple wooden frame was wore smooth after all these years. Loghain held the portrait in his hands and gazed at the image of his young family. It was painted a few months after he accepted the Teyrnship of Gwaren. Stroking the glass protecting young, pig-tailed Anora's face, he smiled faintly (as he always did) when he spotted her skinned knee. The artist must have thought it was a play of the lighting as their images had no other 'imperfections'. Regretfully, the painter filled in six-year-old Anora's missing front tooth.

Sentimentality, however, gave way to hate: "_Better widowed than disgraced_," he decided, snarling. He set the picture down more firmly than intended on his nightstand, crossed the room to ring the bell for a servant, then sat and wrote a cryptic message to Rendon at his desk. Once penned, he blew on the parchment to dry the ink and tossed a bit of sand onto it to set the words-the words of his 'treason'.

-2-

"Zevran," greeted Ignacio with a beckoning wave. As he approached, Ignacio reached elbow-deep into a black sack from which he was feeding one of the bears. The elf thought he saw him produce a ringed, severed hand from the bag that the older man then tossed into the animal's cage. "_Haven't seen Charlize lately_," Zevran noted, "_...Must have missed her mark_."

He stared as the bear devored its meal, a meal that may have been someone he once knew. He hid well what he felt, just like he'd been trained. Presently Ignacio, peeling off his bloody gloves, said, "I have a job for you, my friend."

"Oh?"

The bear grunted in pain; it had bit down on something harder than bone.

"Two jobs, now that I think about it."

"...What is the first?" asked Zevran, hesitantly. Ignacio gestured with his eyes toward the Alienage and replied, "We require some herbs."

Zevran nodded. "How much?"

He shrugged and said, "One or two."

Zevran crossed his arms, mildly insulted (but partly relieved); surely a messenger boy could steal two bunches of deathroot from the Alienage store. He asked skeptically, "And the second job?"

The injured bear next to him slouched in its small cage, preoccupied with its cracked tooth.

Tilting the bear's water bowl so it would come through the bars, Ignacio poured the slobbery dregs on the ground and reached for a damp cloth to clean it with. "I hear an Orlesian sells oils nearby. Maybe...maybe you could put them to good use."

"...Indeed I could." He nearly smirked but that would be a bad thing to do in front of the boss. "Do you have any recommendations?" he asked.

Ignacio returned the bowl to the bear's cage and filled it with fresh water and a lesser health poultice (in case its latest meal gave it incriminating indigestion). He said, "I understand there's a nice place by the docks. Good people go there. They have lots of stories. ...Might know some things." He looked over his shoulder up at Zevran then said, feigning good-natured ignorance in case anyone was listening, "After all, we are new to this country. Maybe they can help."

Zevran tilted his head in a subtle bow, assignments recieved.

-3-

The dimly-lit little shop smelled strongly of herbs and mold. Zevran guessed, "_Ah. He must grow and sell 'other things' here too._"

The shopkeep, Alarith, greeted him, "Can I help you find something?"

"No, just looking."

Quickly, he pocketed some of the deathroot on display while Alarith turned away from him. Zevran cased the shop, should he be asked to 'play messenger boy' again. "_Herbs there. ...Probably grown on the roof. Smart. ...Potions and balms to the right... Mages' robes? Hm. I wonder..._" He glanced at the man behind the counter. The merchant was checking expiration dates, moving older products forward. "_A mage, perhaps?_" he thought.

But when Zevran saw the strange scars on Alarith's arms as he reached to restock, the assassin inferred correctly with a grimace: "_...No. ...Former blood mage's 'assistant'._" For a moment, Zevran entertained the idea that the robes and staff once belonged to the old master of this slave-turned-shopkeep. He allowed the thought to warm him, just for a moment, before extinguishing it; if he didn't, his own mutinous thoughts against the Crows would flare up again.

A book on the shelf caught his attention: "_...'A Knife in the Back is Worth Two in the Bush: An Assassin Manual'? This should be good._" He opened it and skimmed the table of contents.

The door to the shop burst open, letting in bright light into the musty interior. A elf woman scolded someone outside, "Soris Tabris, you come here right now!" Zevran looked over the top of the book at her and did a double-take.


	2. Chapter 2

-1-

She stood in the doorway, hands on her shapely hips, waiting for the person she was yelling for to slouch in. Her dingy dress looked off-yellow against her dark, lovely skin. "_Is she a Rivaini?_" he wondered. Long, auburn hair stopped right where, he imagined, her nipples would be and her bangs framed her brilliant pale green eyes perfectly. With lips pursed together and brows furrowed, she waited concerned and impatient for this 'Soris' to comply. Zevran shook his head, realizing he was staring.

After a few moments, a red-headed man with a black eye and injured side limped in. Zevran squinted territorially at him, tried to return to the book, and turned his ear toward their conversation.

"Soris, you have **got** to stop this! You and Slim are going to get killed if you don't!" she fretted.

"Mikayla, just, just- Alarith, do you have anything that can help me out?"

Alarith assessed his injuries while Mikayla said, "We going to be married in two weeks and you look...you look just terrible!"

Zevran continued to eavesdrop while rolling this woman's name around on his tongue. Their apparent engagement was not necessarily a set-back, especially if she was displeased by him.

"How do you think your fiancée will feel? Seeing you smashed bloody at first sight?"

"_Ah, so they are not engaged to eachother. Even better_," Zevran schemed. He decided to put the book away and shop closer to them.

"Mikayla, you worry too much. Look, I'll be good as new in a couple days. And then this mystery woman Valendrian picked out for me will have a painting-ready face to stand next to."

She crossed her arms. "You're so mean, Soris. Has it occurred to you that she might be _excited_ to meet you? The way you are behaving is just...inconsiderate."

While Alarith stewed a custom concoction for Soris and counted out pain-relievers, Soris rolled his uninjured eye and said, "Yeah, well, what if she's-, what if _she's_ inconsiderate, huh? Getting pregnant so she doesn't have to work and making me responsible for everything? I'm an orphan, 'Kayla. I don't have a Dad I can fall back on if things go bad, okay?"

Mikayla's posture relaxed with a realization. She said, "You have cold feet, don't you?"

Soris shrank in posture a little, relieved in a way to be understood but still feeling uncomfortable with the whole thing. She volunteered, good-naturedly, "...Well...if nothing else, you don't have to worry about your last name changing to something awkward. ...Mine will probably be something phlegmy like Mikayla Kallian or something." She smiled broadly. Zevran's disinterested rifling through trap plans stopped at the sight. He swallowed and again tried to not stare. "_Mikayla Arainai sounds n-_"; the Crow shook the thought away before it could fully form.

"Ha, I dunno Cous'. Once she hears my name, she'll probably think she's been tricked." He straighted up and looked down his nose condescendingly, "Hello. Soris Tabris, **not**-Tevinter magister."

Alarith dropped an empty flask, stricken for a moment at the word 'magister'.

Mikayla calmly reassured, "Alarith? Alarith, you are **safe**. You have a shop in Denerim, far, far away from any of...them. You live in our Alienage and have many friends here who love you. This is a good and **safe** place. 'Everything that is worth fighting for', remember?" His breath slowly returning, he shakingly took a pill bottle from his pocket and took a couple. He nodded and continued his work with a wounded look to Soris.

"...Do you have the herbs you need to make more of your medicine?" she asked. Alarith nodded distractedly. Mikayla glanced at her cousin, appalled, and gestured with her eyes for him to apologize. Soris cleared his throat and muttered 'sorry, bad joke' for inadvertantly triggering him. "_I know better than that_," he chided himself, feeling worse than he showed.

"Ser, how much is this?" asked Zevran, sensing his interjection would be welcome. He presented the Ferelden map to the merchant.

"...Twelve and ten copper."

"Ah, very good," he said and counted the sum from his coin purse. Alarith noticed sprigs of deathroot protuding from this stranger's pocket but didn't say anything; his medicine was kicking in. "_Probably better close up and rest a bit_," he thought.

Zervan continued, "Sers, I hope you'll forgive me for eavesdropping earlier. But did I hear you say that you will be married soon?"

She confirmed then added bashfully, "Um, not to eachother or anything." Mikayla noted that he was darker-skinned like she was, unlike most of Denerim's elves.

Zevran feigned surprise to give the appearance that he wasn't listening intently to them. "I see. Arranged?"

In unison, Soris and Mikayla replied, "Yes." Her tone was nervous while his was unenthusiatic. She wondered if this tattooed stranger with honey-brown eyes could be her bethrothed...

"Well, I wish you both the best. ...If you come to the Pearl, I'll give you a discount. Just ask for Zevran."

Soris crinkled his nose and didn't say anything. Mikayla, scandalized, replied, "I- I don't think, um-"

Backpeddling quickly, Zevran said, "My dear, I am a humble masseur, expert in relieving tension. The Pearl's...other...services aren't mine to negoiate on price."

"Oh," she said. She seemed to consider the offer before saying, non-committally, "There's-, there's a great deal of preparations yet to be made before the wedding. If I have time...I'll try. Thank you, ser, uh, ser Zevran."

Internally congratulating himself, he asked Soris (to maintain the illusion of sincerity), "And you, ser?"

"I've got someone I see already. But thanks though." Soris narrowed his eye at him for a moment, detecting, maybe, Zevran's game. "_Good luck_," he thought, doubtfully that even if this stranger tried that he could break the famed Mikayla Tabris piety.

And that piety was looking at him, wide-eyed, "Soris? You see-"

"What? I can't get massages?" It was a lie of omission. But she'd be easier to deal with so he let her believe it.

-2-

_Later that day._

Mikayla stretched after what felt like hours of intricate sewing. Her wedding clothes were nearly done; just a few more embellishments would do the trick. "_Ugh, but not tonight_," she thought. Standing up, she twisted her back a couple times in the hopes that it would pop. When it didn't, she moved to the window. It was hard to tell what time it was with the sky so overcast, but she guessed she had an hour or so before curfew. "_Better wear a raincoat_," she decided then prayed, "_Maker, __**please**__ don't let anyone I know recognize me..._"

She deluded herself with the idea that she strickly wanted a shoulder rub, nothing more. Not to ask where he was from. Not to know why he artfully tattooed his face. ...Not to see those approving, honey-brown eyes again...

_Soon after._

Crossing the Pearl's threshold, Mikayla's eyes burned with the mixture of incense and deathroot smoke. There were other smells she couldn't identify; she wasn't acquainted with the heavier drugs offered (under the table) at the brothel.

She coughed, rubbing her eyes. When she reopened them, they widened at the sight of a male dwarf in drag escorting a dark, white-haired male giant back to one of the rooms. Deciding that this was **definitely** not a place she wanted to be seen in, she put her raincoat's hood back on and turned to leave.

"Hello, my dear. Off so soon?" She startled and looked over her shoulder, wondering who there could possibly recognize her since she'd never been there before. "_Please, please be Soris and not someone from Bann Rodolf's..._" she hoped.

Zevran wasn't expecting it to be her but was pleased. "Ah, Mikayla, no?"

She swallowed, looked around, and nodded slightly and quickly. "_A prude then_," he deduced, "_Virgin? Hm..._" Given his deduction and her apparent concern for appearances, he decided to ask for her benefit: "Will you be having a half-hour or full-hour massage this evening?"

His opinion of her shifted. She was beautiful and seemed frettingly kind (at least to her cousin and the shopkeep) but, if she was so quickly condeming... He felt a heaviness in his chest he didn't know the source of. "_But she __**did**__ come here_," he thought. ...It was a slight hope he didn't allow him self to entertain.

As anticipated, her shoulders loosened a little. She thought for a moment then said, quietly, "Um, just, just a half-hour." Mikayla paused then explained, "Alienage curfew."

"Ah, very well." He stepped aside and bowed while gesturing toward the hallway to the left.

While Mikayla and Zevran passed, Sanga asked him: "Which service, Zevran?"

"Massage."

Sanga's eyes narrowed apathetically and her mouth pulled sideways. "Don't forget that your rent for the room is 20 silver. ...It'd be better for both of us if you spoke with-"

Zevran faced Sanga with a finger to his lips as Mikayla proceeded toward the corridor without him. He said, "I know the terms of our agreement, my friend, and I thank you. If you'd like to negoiate with me _when I'm not with a client_, I'd be happy to do so, hm?"

The madame shrugged then asked, "How long?"

"Half-hour."

She noted the time then said, "Alright then. I'll check on you in a bit."

Zevran muttered to himself as he turned, "If you must." This Mikayla was sturdy but still a woman. And a prude at that. Surely Zevran didn't have anything to worry about. Sanga's overprotection, at least in this case, was insulting.

Mikayla had turned back, concerned he wasn't behind her. When she spotted him through the smoky room, he was charmed for a moment by the relieved look in her eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

-1-

"This one yours, Zev?" called Isabela, lifting her mug of ale while pointing at Mikayla. The pirate was draped across the purple velvet couch, smoke billowing up from her cigar. She and some of her crew were playing cards while other members were having "R & R" in a few of the Pearl's rooms. Getting up, she tucked her cards in her corset, sauntered over to Mikayla, and blew smoke out the side of her mouth. After appraising the elf woman, she took a pull from her mug and asked Zevran as he approached, "May I join you?"

"My client is only here for a massage, mi 'Bela," said Zevran, amused at his friend.

"We could tag-team. You take the top half-" She paused for effect then said to the elf woman, "And I'll take the lower half." Isabela winked, waggled her brows, and puffed her cigar while she unblinkingly leered at an alarmed Mikayla.

"Um, uh-"

"...Hm. That sounds like a 'no'. Oh well," said Isabela with an unaffected smile. To Zevran she said, grinning, "Do have fun, sweetheart."

"_Writer's inspiration must have struck_," Zevran thought, again amused. But looking at Mikayla, he thought, "_I doubt reality will match any friend-fiction you write though, 'Bela._"

Mikayla watched Isabela return to her company, tramatized. Zevran said, "...Isabela is...well, Isabela. She meant no harm."

"Can I follow you, please?" Mikayla asked, not wanting to be left alone even if she barely knew this 'Zevran'.

They proceeded down the narrow hall, amourous noises audible through the doors at various volumes. Mikayla blushed and swallowed. She knew her ears when bright red and she was thankful for the candles only dimly lighting their path (and therefore masking her bashful embarassment). One of the rooms they passed, however, smelled incredible and Mikayla was unwittingly drawn to it. Zevran smirked but steered her onward to his room, the last in the hall.

Stepping through the door was like a portal to another country. Fragrant potted plants were trellised along the sides of the windows, like living curtains. Candles about the room revealed a shelf with scattered books by a comfy-looking couch, a sleeping colorful bird she couldn't identify, and what appeared to be jars of honey or oil. The floor was covered with a thick, fluffy rug with a bed-like table in the center. Beyond and to the left of it was a linen, scroll-patterned privacy shade.

"Well, here we are. Once you are done changing-"

"Changing?"

He briefly squinted in confusion. "Have you not had a massage before, my dear?"

She blinked, "...Yes. My cousin Shianni just has me sit in a chair and rubs my shoulders until she's tired." She attempted again to pop her back to no effect. "_I doubt she could help me this time_," she thought.

Smiling, he replied, "That, my dear, is a 'shoulder rub'. Massage is significantly better, I assure you."

Mikayla looked to the floor, wondering what exactly was in store for her. Sensing her hestitation, he explained, "I will leave the room while you undress behind the screen. There's a robe there, if you'd like to use it. Once you are under the blankets, call out and I'll return, hm?"

Swallowing, she replied, "...Okay," then quietly, "Ahm, and- and after...?"

"Then you will instruct me on what to massage. Nothing more, nothing less."

She nodded. Zevran bowed his head and left the room, wondering if he'd ever known anyone so...guarded. He wasn't sure what he thought of it.

Meanwhile, she took the opportunity to investigate his room. Crossing to the bookshelf, she took a random book and opened it. "_Antivan milk sandw- Oh. Oh my..._" She quickly returned it, disliking that the image turned her on as much (and as instantly) as it did. The potted plants were the next things she inspected. They smelled lovely, but not in the same way as that one room down the hall. Finally, fearing that she was keeping him waiting and that the curfew was nearing, she undressed quickly behind the privacy shade. The couch, interestingly, had straps tied around its legs. "_Wonder what those are for... To help move it?_" she thought. Shrugging, she put on the robe, scurried to the table, and ducked under the warm blanket.

"Ready!" she called, not entirely sure that she was.

-2-

Zevran knocked on the door to confirm that he heard her correctly (since it was distractingly loud in the hallway). He peaked his head in, eyes shut, and asked "Mikayla?"

"Yes, here."

He shut the door, tied back his hair with some twine, then moved behind the privacy shade to wash his hands in the basin. Mikayla watched as his shadow behind the shade appeared to take off its shirt. Her eyes unconsciously widened and she gulped; there was no modest way to escape this since her clothes were out of reach. But, thankfully, he didn't take off his pants. She pulled up the blankets and laid back, trying to appear more collected than she was.

Mikayla next heard the window open and rain gently falling outside. Topless Zevran had numerous tattoos on his arms and back. He was picking flowers and sprigs from the trellised plants, putting them into a bowl. To combat her nervousness, she asked, "What, uh, what kind of flowers are those?"

He pointed to each and said their respective name: "Par Vollen sandalwood. Riviani geranium. And Antivan lavender."

"They're- they're lovely."

Zevran hadn't continued the conversation like she'd hoped. Instead, he quickly ground them together with mortar and pestle, gradually adding various oils, while warming it over a candle.

"Are you, uh...from any of those places?" she asked.

"...Antiva." He continued to grind the mixture into a fine paste and added yet more oils.

Yes, the conversation (that she was determined to _not_ have when she came here) was not going well. She tried again, "What's it like there?"

He left the mixture to cool on the counter and approached the table. She looked up at him sheepishly as he replied, "Perhaps another time, my dear. Right now...is for you. Close your eyes, hm?"

She reluctantly complied. He asked, moving her hair out of the way, "So, where should I focus?"

"Shoulders and lower back."

"No lower body then?"

"Um-"

"Perhaps next time."

Mikayla reopened her eyes, gulped, said, "...Maybe," and hid a smile. She instantly felt her cheeks blush.

She didn't say 'no' so he took that as a good sign. But then he wondered, "_Because there won't be a next time or...she wants to see me again? ...And, if she can afford another visit...what does that mean?_" He tucked those thoughts away and placed his hands on her head to center himself and merge their energies.


	4. Chapter 4

After a few moments, he lightly trailed his fingers from her head along the length of her side to her feet. Zevran wiggled the support under her knees and circled the table, straightening the blanket as he went.

He slathered up his hands with the warm, fragrant massage oil he had prepared and filtered. Pressing his thumbs to the center of her forehead, he pulled the furrowed skin there toward her temples. After repeating this a couple times, he did the same repetitive motions over her sinuses and chin. He then followed her jaw and took her head into his palms, holding it at the pressure point near the base of her skull while making tiny circles in her scalp with his fingertips.

Combing his fingers through her soft hair, he set her head back down on the table. He picked up and gently tugged at small sections of her hair to stimulate the scalp further. She shuddered when he brushed up her ear lobes. His mouth curled on one side, a mischievous idea forming.

Lips unnecessarily brushing the rim of her ear, he asked, "Pressure okay?" as he stroked down her neck on both sides to her trapezius muscles. Mikayla took in a big breath and sighed an affirmative. He wanted to linger there, to suck on her ears until she squirmed off the blanket, but he decided to bide his time. "_We've only just started_," he thought, smiling to himself.

Her shoulder traps were very tight so he pinched and kneaded there for a bit until the knots subsided. Occasionally he strayed to stroke her upper pecs; her nipples pertly reacted. Then he reached beneath her, along her spine, and pulled toward himself so her flesh rolled over his strong fingers. She unintentionally moaned. Embarrassed, her eyes shot open to check his reaction. Zevran said, "I don't feel I'm doing my job well without-" he smiled charmingly, "feedback, my dear." Reaching beneath her once more, he again murmured close to her ear, "Don't hold back on _my_ account."

Louder than before, she whimpered in response to his motion. Her hard nipples were the only things keeping the blanket from exposing her breasts. She realized this a little too late and quickly covered up, to Zevran's amused disappointment. He pushed down on the fronts of her shoulders and walked forward with his hands to her biceps. Mikayla drowsily slit her eyes open to see his tattooed flesh flexing in time with her pleasure. Nipple rings jiggled unfortunately out of reach from her mouth; she chastised herself for the lustful thought.

Zevran moved to her left side, reapplied oil to his hands, and rubbed up her forearm to her wrist. Her face contorted with nearly painful delight. His member stiffened and he unconsciously stroked with greater pressure. "Ow!" she said, eyes opening more fully. He immediately lessened the pressure but said, "Good 'Ow' or no?"

"...Mostly good."

He grinned and asked, "So what should our safe word be, hm?"

"Safe word?" she asked, tilting her head and knitting her brows. He momentarily stopped his caresses, thinking, "_She is about to be married and doesn't know what a safe word is?_" He definitely had never known anyone as- ...The word that came to mind displeased him because, whether he liked it or not, the Crows had robbed him of it. He broodily switched to the other side of the table, forgetting to answer her question.

"What's a safe wo-_wow_-_oh_-that's good."

"Oh, sorry my dear. It is...it is a word you say so I know the difference between good 'ow' and bad." He tried with difficulty to not think about his own "bad 'ow'" experiences but her next question (fortunately) interrupted that line of thought: "...What kind of bird is that?"

"What? ...Oh, ha-ha, that is Carlo. He is a 'Carduelis'. ...'Goldfinch' in the common tongue, I believe."

"Okay, 'goldfinch' then. ...Is he from Antiva too?"

"He is," Zevran replied. "_Very inquisitive, this one_," he noted, "_Perhaps she would like it if I ask questions of my own..._"

"Where are you from?" he asked, working on her sewing hand. Her smile informed him that he guessed correctly.

"I'm, _ugh_, from here, _ooh_, like my father. My mother was from, _uhm_, Nevarra though."

"_Not a Rivaini then_," he thought. Setting her hand down, he removed the support under her knees, raised the blanket up on the far side of the table, and turned his head toward the open window. He said, "Roll over on your stomach and scoot up, please." She obliged then he set up the head rest.

He positioned the support under her ankles, plotting on how to work in massaging her feet.

"Comfortable?"

"Um-hm."

Noting the remaining sand in his hourglass, he decided, "_...Next time. If there is one._" Instead of nibbling on her toes like he wanted to, Zevran folded down the blanket to reveal beautiful, deep caramel skin. He trailed a finger lightly down her spine and she shivered. He liked that she was so responsive to his touches.

He moved her hair and once again kneaded at her trapezius muscles and down between her shoulder blades. "You are very ropey, my dear," he commented then asked, "How long has this been going on?"

"Ev-_ah_-ever since-_oh_ I started-_ugh_ sewing," she replied. She was confused at why she didn't immediately volunteer _**what** _she was sewing but decided the moment had passed to bring it up.

"Hm," he said, and walked forward with his hands until he reached the small of her back. She moaned, kicking up her foot a little. He smiled wryly and deepened his caresses there. Mikayla felt herself getting wet. Then, after a couple of (wonderful) strokes, she realized that he was rubbing just under the hem of her underwear.

"Carlo, uh, I mean, **goldfinch**!" Zevran's hands immediately shot away from her. "Are you okay?" he asked, concerned since she seemed to be enjoying it (as was he).

"Um...uh...yes, just- just a little bit _up_ from where you were," she replied then added, "please."

He wondered if her safe word use had anything to do with him causing her pain. Salivating, he imagined wiry curls moist between her legs-

"**Goldfinch**!"

He moved his hands again, internally chuckling, and said, "You...seem to be very...sensitive...there, my dear. Are you sure you don't want me to tend to it?"

She didn't immediately reply. His face fell; he feared that he may have triggered her. He didn't know that she was sorely tempted...

Just then, the sound of curfew bell reverberated through the window. Mikayla's head shot up and Zevran looked at the hourglass. He had no idea how long it had been out of sand.

"I- oh no, this is really, really **bad**!" she said to the room. Then, to Zevran, she said, "Bad things happen after curfew!"

Sanga strolled down the hallway, listening through doors as she went. "_Quiet doors mean dead whores_," she rhymed grimly. She knocked on Zevran's door and Mikayla startled.

"Everything okay in there, Zevran? The curfew bell just rang."

"Finishing up," he replied through the door. He covered her up and, without thinking, kissed the crown of her head. Her eyebrows raised and she swallowed, knowing that she shouldn't, _couldn't_, like him as much as she did.

Zevran got his shirt, crossed to the door and, before leaving, said, "Open the door after you are dressed. I'll escort you home, hm?"

She had no idea how to respond.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes**: As a reminder, I'm *not* going to be particularly descriptive of 'Alyssa' so that you can insert you own Elissa (heh, get it) if you'd like. Or hell, self-insert if you want. ;]

Also, foot fetish is just slightly YKINMK for me *however* massage is definitely something I ship. Let me know how I did? ;/

* * *

_Earlier, in another room nearby._

Soris knocked on the door. When she didn't immediately answer he pressed his ear to it, really hoping to not hear _someone else_ with his girlfriend. Alyssa assured him that she was only a 'dancer' but the doubt nagged at him. Fortunately, all he heard was the hurried click of her footsteps beyond it; he risked cracking it open and peeking inside.

When she saw his red hair, blue eye and wry smile, she playfully pulled open the door a bit and grabbed him by the front of his tunic into her dark room. In her enthusiasm, she did not see his bruised-black eye and she thought his limp was a silly "I'm about to get some" strut.

Alyssa's newest pair of strappy high-heels accentenated the muscles of her calves, thighs, and rear as she lead him slowly by the hand through the candle-lined path toward the bed. She paused, flirtatiously glancing over her shoulder at Soris, and holding his gaze as she seductively crawled on the soft mattress still shod. The candlelight playing on his face showed his interest (but obscured his injury). With her knee bent beneath her body so her foot was in the air, her blithe, cat-like smile dared him to act on his kink.

Soris returned her mischief with smile of his own. He gently kneaded her ass through her skirt, down her thighs, then to the satiny ribbons of her shoes. "I like them," he said, then knelt to untie it with his teeth. He slipped it off, pressed his cheek to the arch of her foot, and rubbed the ball and heel deeply. She cooed and his dick instantly went turgid.

Kissing up to her heel and threading her other digits with his fingers, he asked, "Did you get a pedicure?"

"Um-hm," she confirmed, pleased he noticed. He lightly stroked down the ridge of her smooth foot and she tried (with difficultly) to not squirm. She ticklishly giggled though when he rolled her picky toe around with his tongue.

Pivoting on her bent knee, she rolled over onto her back, raising her other leg in a fan-like motion over Soris' head. Once she sat up, her pinky toe was in still in his mouth but her other leg dangled over his shoulder. The view pleased him but he winced; her leg was resting on his injured side.

And that's when she finally noticed his black eye.

"Are you okay?" she asked, bolting upright and removing her toe from his mouth with a pop. She cupped his jaw into her palm and lightly examined his puffy brow with her fingertips in the poor lighting.

Glancing again at her crotch, he said, "Well...I _was_," a corner of his mouth raising as he slid her leg off his shoulder.

"How did this happening?"

Using her thighs as supports, he gingerly stood up from his crouch on the floor and sat next to her on the edge of the bed. He answered, with a bit more swagger in his voice than needed, "I was doing some re-con work for S-...uh...for this guy I know. There's a Bann in town that stole the Tears of Andraste and we're going to get them back."

"Tears of Andraste?" she asked, untying her other high-heel.

"...You haven't heard of them?"

She shook her head.

He continued, "The Tears, they're, they are just about the most holy thing there is! And that damn noble has them squirreled up in his manor all to himself. Anyway, we're working on a plan."

Alyssa moved her leg over his thigh and nuzzled closer to him. She asked, hestitantly, "Is there...a lot of money to be had by getting them back?" Her face fell at the hope that they could run away together and she could afford to not strip for obnoxious, greasy pirates and merchants anymore.

He scoffed, "Well, yeah. I'm not an idiot," then, justifying himself to the room, "And, I mean, besides that, it's just the right thing to do, you know?"

In response, she took his hand and put it on her inner thigh and moved to sit on his lap. She stated, kissing his uninjured brow, "When we get to Highever, I think I'm going to change my name." She thought but did not say, "_back_."

"Oh yeah?" he said, squeezing her flesh and inching upward to where her legs met. "To what?"

She lifted his free hand to her corseted breast and ground her rear into his lap. Alyssa answered, "Clara."

"Clara?" His lips brushed her ear as he said, "Pretty. Does it mean something?"

She paused then stated, her heart stinging with hope, "Clear and bright." ...It wasn't yet a dying hope though, she told herself, so she added with a grin over her shoulder at him, "And famous."

Soris returned her grin and said, "It suits you," and kissed her cheek while stroking her clit through her knickers.

"Thank you," she chirped. Then in a blasé tone, she added, "Better than Alyssa."

Clara recalled the day is came to work at the Pearl. Since she was from Highever, 'Alyssa Koslun' was Sanga's clever idea for a stage name (as were the ridiculously complicated qunari saris the madame made her wear).

His question brought her back to the present: "How so?"

"Alyssa means 'cure for madness'."

"You are driving me mad, love," he said, kissing her neck. She rolled her eyes but continued to grind into his attention below. "_Haven't ever heard **that** before_," she thought.

"But, you're right. Alyssa Tabris has too many 's'es."

"...Is that your idea of a proposal?" she asked, whipping her head around in (delighted) mock offense. He dipped inside her with his fingers and her head lolled back on his shoulder.

"Yes." He said, stroking deliciously within her, then added, "...Clara."

She extracted his hand from her, stood, and pounced him flat onto the bed. "Oh!" he grunted and yelled, goodnaturedly, their safe word.

"Sorry. I forgot about your shoulder," she apologized, shrinking from it and instead untying the laces of his breeches.

Just then the Alienage curfew bell rang.

"Damn it," she cursed then asked, "...Time for work?"

Propping himself as best he could on his elbows, "Are you kidding? I've got all night."

"Good answer," she said, freeing his member, removing her knickers, and moving into position on top of him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes**: For this fic, Mikayla received Fang ( dragon age . / Fang ) after Adaia died.

* * *

Mikayla untucked her hair from behind her ears (for good measure) and pulled her hood over her head while Zevran opened the door for her. Light from the lantern overhead reflected on the rain-drenched cobbles beneath their feet. They walked to the Alienage, the rain falling gently on them. Her pace was slower than he was expecting given her earlier concern. She was also quieter.

"My dear, is something wrong?" he asked.

"_Yes_," she internally scolded herself, "_I'm a snoop. Now you are going to be out by yourself after curfew and it's __**my fault**__ because I kept you waiting in the hall instead of...__**ergh**__!_" She sighed, replying, "Well...yes, there is something wrong."

He tilted his head toward her and waited for her to continue as they walked.

"...I'm very glad to have your company," she confessed (then immediately critical that she said 'very'). But attempting to recover, she said, "It's just that...well...if you walk me home...who will walk you home?"

Her tone, concerned like a child afraid of the dark yet trying to console another, inexplicably charmed him. His grin made his eyes twinkle slightly; she was so struck by how handsome he was that she didn't notice she was heading right for a puddle.

Zevran had noticed it however. Quickly and smoothly taking her arm in the crook of his, they avoided it as if they'd been dancing.

Seeing finally the puddle he had kept her from, she returned his pleased expression with a shy smile of her own. "Um, thank you. I didn't see that."

"It was nothing, my dear. ...And, about your concern for my safety, you needn't worry," he said. Then with a smug lilt in his voice and a quick survey of their surroundings, he continued, "I can handle myself."

She blinked, not sure if she was comforted or offended by his confidence. "_Why would a masseur know how to deal with guards?_" she wondered. He said, still a bit smug, "You are kind, Mikayla. ...I would not have offered if I thought we would be in danger."

Not sure what to say, she watched the ground for more puddles while walking arm in arm with him in the sprinkling rain. She was utterly perplexed about how she should feel about this situation, thinking, "_Alone in the dark...with a nice, handsome stranger...but 'can handle himself' with guards...that I'm not engaged to...__**ugh**__...!_"

After a few moments of watching her (apparently) argue with herself, he asked, "So, your mother is from Nevarra, hm?"

Her brows furrowed for a moment but then she recalled that she had told him earlier. She tried not to look up at him and replied, "Yes, yes she w-"

"Rare beauties in Nevarra; do you take after her?"

"...Sorry what?"

"Do you take after your mother? One doesn't often see dark skin with fair eyes and auburn hair." A corner of his mouth lifted before his gaze returned from admiring her to the muddy, torchlamp-lit street.

Someone behind them cursed, having stepped in a puddle. Zevran noticed this but didn't glance back in case it would alarm her. Instead he deftly unbuttoned his dagger's sheath.

She thought, "_He thinks I'm...?_" Her heart felt like it was in her throat but she managed to say, "I...um...well, yes...yes, I'm weird looking like mother was."

Then Mikayla chuckled, remembering a time when she was sitting in front of the vanity while mother helped her get ready to go to the Chantry. Mother was singing a silly song while weaving sections of her hair into place. Occasionally she'd tickle her ribs, the braid would unravel and she'd have to start over, again singing the song to make her daughter giggle. Father came in then and kissed her mother's neck as she continued to work on their daughter's hair, chiding kindly that they'd be late. Mikayla smiled then, looking at herself and her parents in the mirror; it was a family portrait of sorts.

"...Was?" Zevran asked.

Back in the present, Mikayla felt both sad and self-conscious. She didn't like it when she accidentally brought that up because then she had to tell how her mother died; it evoked feelings she'd just assume forget.

"...Yes. ...She died a few years ago." Knowing Zevran would ask, she volunteered, "Out at night...after curfew, the guards found her..." Her eyes burned with the beginnings of tears and she sniffed.

"...I see," he said then thought, "_hence the anxiety..._"

Mikayla continued, "Father was proud of her for not drawing her blade," she referenced her concealed dagger, Fang, between her cloak, "...but sometimes..._sigh_, I...I don't know..." She sniffed again.

"Did she teach you how to use it?" Zevran's question was less to console her (as Mikayla interpreted it) but to devise strategy should it be needed. He could feel the person behind them still stalking in the shadows.

"She did. ...But I've gotten a little rusty since Dad got me the messenger job at Bann Rodolf's," she said.

Despite himself and their current danger, Zevran's gears began to turn on yet another strategy. He thought, "_That's why she can afford a massage..._"

Mikayla shyly admitted, "I almost didn't come to visit you tonight in case I saw someone I knew. It would have been just," she crinkled her nose then said, "...awkward."

"Ah, but they would be there too, no?" he pointed out, bending down just beyond of the last torch to feign boot buckle adjustments. His true objective was to see if their pursuer was stupid enough to follow them through the light.

While Zevran pretended to check his other buckle, Mikayla said, "True. ...I hadn't thought of that. ...But even so, I like my job and want to keep it. The tips are pretty good, especially from the King's steward."

Zevran froze; he couldn't stop the strategies spinning nor Ignacio's voice murmuring in his brain: "_...nice place by the docks ...Good people go there. ...__**Might know some things**__._"

He reasoned, "_The King will head to Ostagar soon. ...It's a lead. Too useful to ignore. But how...and without..._"

He slowly stood, his expression pulled downward, as their attacker stepped into the torchlight with knife unsheathed.

"**Zev-**" was all she got out before the stranger muffled her cries with his hand. He held the knife to her throat and spat, "Toss her gold into the light where I can see it or I'll cut her open, ser _guard_."

As Mikayla squirmed, her feet barely touching the ground, Zevran quickly access her captor's stance. "_He's injured_," Zevran noted and flashed a strike at his hip. He yowled, released Mikayla, and toppled backward on the muddy ground. Then in a blink, Zevran held the amateur down with his knee, both his and the other man's blade at his neck and heart.

Some flame-red hair peeked out from their attacker's hood. She ripped it back. The man on the ground cringed, realizing she wasn't a human noblewoman but...his cousin.

"**SORIS! ****_WHY_** are you **OUT**?" Mikayla roared.

"Wha- wait, why are **you**?" he countered weakly, Zevran's weight bearing heavily on injured side.

Taken back, she flustered, "I, uh...um-"

From his back pocket, Zevran produced the Fereldan map he'd bought earlier that day in Alarith's shop. He said, making his accent slightly thicker than usual, "I am new to this country. She was helping me get back to where my master is." He rose and offered a hand to Soris, "But I think I can take it from here."

Zevran jerked him up and Soris grimaced at the pain but didn't say anything. Both men knew he was an idiot.

Then kissing Mikayla's hand with a bow, Zevran said to Mikayla, "It seems, my dear, the Maker has a different escort in mind, hm?"

Forbidden affection for him welled within her again. She swallowed, tilted her head in silent thanks, then sighed. He turned leaving her and Soris to return together to their home. The Alienage wasn't far but Soris expected to hear an earful the entire way.

But, thankfully, she was distracted for some reason. "_Fine by me_," he thought, "_And once I deliver her to uncle, I'll be able to get _something_ to pay Alarith back with __**in peace**__._" Soris rolled his eyes, one still black from last night's attempts, "_Probably slim pickings tonight now that I followed __**those**__ two for so damn long..._"

* * *

**Note**: Regarding the delay...I'm been afflicted with writer's block. I'm not wild about this chapter but it's better than staring at scribbled notes and a blank screen.


	7. Chapter 7

-1-

_Same evening, after Zevran had veered toward the Gnawed Noble tavern._

"Excuse me, ser, have you seen an elf girl with dark skin and red hair this evening?"

Zevran squinted into the darkness ahead. The older man continued, walking into the light of a street lantern, "She's my daughter. She went to get thread but didn't return home from the tailor after the market closed."

Zevran tentatively asked, "What is her name?", suspecting he knew the answer.

"Mikayla," Cyrion replied.

The gears in Zevran's head churned painfully again. He offered, thickening his accent as before, "When I got turned around in your city earlier, she helped me find my way back to where my master is staying. I'm afraid the market closed before she could complete her errand. She should be on her way home now with...um..._Soris_...I believe his name was."

Cyrion's wrinkles deepened with his relieved smile. "Thank you so much, young man," he said and turned to toward home. Zevran whistled as he pretended to go down a side street, waited two beats, then silently followed Cyrion in the shadows.

-2-

_At the Tabris' home._

"Where's Dad?" asked Mikayla as she shrugged off her raincoat.

Shianni answered in condemning faux-nonchalance, "Looking for you," her arms crossed and lips tightly pursed. With that, all the previous blissful color regarding Zevran drained from Mikayla's face.

Soris said, "I'll go find him," and left before the women could object. His true motive was to get back to Slim but he figured finding the old man would be fairly easy. "_Knowing him, he'll have had a heart attack one step beyond the marketplace border..._", he thought, rolling his unblackened eye.

-3-

"Soris! Is Mikayla with you?" called Cyrion, not far from the Alienage gate. A city guard stationed in the battlement above and to the side lazily shifted his gaze to the sound. Soris, Cyrion, nor the guard detected Zevran in the conjured smoke of his stealth cloak.

"She's in the house, Uncle."

"Oh good," said Cyrion, patting Soris on the shoulder when he reached him.

The city guard called down to them, "**Oi**, you lot! Inside the gate!" and, with half-hearted menace, tapped the end of his long bow on the wall. While they all were distracted, Zevran slid along the wall beneath him.

Cyrion said, "Right away, ser," and hurried to the gate, with speed one wouldn't expect for someone his age. Soris stood for a moment, shook his head, and followed, embarrassed that 'Mr. Do-Right' Cyrion was his uncle. Once inside, Soris checked to see if the guard was looking before making a rude gesture to his crotch. Unimpressed, the guard went back to the flask he had hidden behind one of the wall's stones. Zevran, meanwhile, took the opportunity to climb the gate.

The assassin watched as Mikayla and a woman he didn't know both greeted Cyrion and Soris. He continued to watch, trying to deduce which light belonged to what family member, until all the lights in the windows shortly went out. "_They must go to Chantry_," he thought.

Then Zevran thought, "_...And here comes the liability_," as Soris not-so-gracefully snuck out of the living room's window. His eyes narrowed, thinking, "_Where are you off to, Cousin?_"

-4-

_Back outside at the edge of the marketplace._

Slim acknowledged Soris with a nod and then a subtle head tilt. As implied, Soris proceeded to the dead-end alley not far from Slim's 'corner office' and waited.

"Franderel," whispered Slim, "Northwest-side."

"**But**-," started Soris, referencing his black eye.

"Rest up, it happens tomorrow night," replied Slim, turning as he strolled back from whence he came. Zevran froze in place; luckily, Slim didn't act as though he saw him.

A city guard was patrolling toward Slim and he feigned gratitude, requesting an escort back to his home. "Not safe with the riff-raff about," said Slim theatrically to the guard, so Soris could sneak safely away.

Zevran stayed a moment until Soris had left the alley for home. "_Definitely a liability_," he thought, and finally made for the Gnawed Noble, "_Guess I'll be doing this __**again**__ tomorrow night..._"

-5-

_While Cyrion, Shianni, and Mikayla are at the Chantry._

Smoke billowed from Ignacio's cigar as he sat across from a weary Zevran. He was rearranging his playing cards like his other associates sitting around the table.

"So...Zevran...how are things going?" asked Ignacio, puffing smoke into the air.

Zevran sipped his espresso, rubbed his eyes, and thought, "_I hate staff meetings..._" Then he said, "I made a friend..._he_...delivers messages for the nobles. Name of..._Kallian_...no, sorry, **_Kailan_**."

Ignacio raised a brow; Zevran was generally a better liar than that. He asked, "Up late last night?"

"Yes," Zevran said, sipping at his espresso again.

"Business or pleasure?" asked Ignacio as one of the messenger boys brought him a mocha.

"...Neither."

"**Neither**? Do I not **pay** you to gather information at a _whorehouse_?"

"Yes, but-"

Ignacio interrupted, his jaw clenched, "The Orlesians want a certain relic somewhere in this city. It is called 'The Tears of Andraste'. ...Since you are neither _**busy**_nor enjoying yourself...Zevran...see it done."

The other associates around the table failed at hiding their relief.

"Do we have any leads on wher-"

Ignacio abruptly stood, slammed his cards on the table, and yelled, "_**WHAT IS YOUR JOB, ZEVRAN?**_"

He swallowed and shakingly said, "To- to, uh, ga- gather information."

"...Yes," said the older man with unnerving calmness, then he leaned forward so the overhead light played distortingly on his angry features. Snarling, he continued, "...Not '_neither_', **whoreson!**"

Ignacio's eyes referenced the door and Zevran quickly left.

-6-

_Outside the Chantry, walking toward the Alienage._

Cyrion stayed as usual to help clean up the Chantry pews. Naturally, the Sister's sermon had focused on Benedictions 4:11 and Mikayla ruminated in silence at Shianni's side.

"_Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written_," Mikayla internally muttered, feeling disgusted with herself. She continued to chastise herself, "_Nearly got Father killed over a stupid-_"

"Cousin? Are you alright?" asked Shianni.

"No."

"...Beating yourself up about last night?"

"...Yes. What of it?"

"Well...it wasn't your _brightest_ idea but, I don't know if I'd be thinking straight either so close to my wedding day if I were you." Then Shianni bowed her head a little and apologized, "I'm sorry I was so hard on you. It's just...your mother-"

"I know, Shianni, **alright**? I've been sick about it all morning and last night too. ...And...that's not the whole of it."

Shianni's ears flicked slightly, "What do you mean?"

"...I lied to Father about _why_ I went out. ...I...I went to see someone."

Her cousin's eyes widened with a question she didn't utter.

"His name is Zevran and he works at the Pearl-"

"**MI-****_KAYLA!_**" Shianni shouted. In Sister Theohild's startle at the outburst, she actually said the Chant correctly.

Mikayla shot her cousin an annoyed glance and whispered, "He's a **masseur**, Shianni. Alarith knows him." She thought, "_Er, or something..._" Then she asked, abruptly, "Has Father told you anything about my betrothed?"

"Nope. But I've seen letters from the Highever Alienage."

She sighed then said, "Well...I still need to get some more thread. I'll catch up to you in a bit."

-7-

_At Liselle's marketplace stall._

Mikayla brushed her fingers over the various fine silks she knew she would never be able to afford. Still, it was fun to pretend.

"Back again?" asked the merchant pleasantly, "How are the preparations coming, hm?"

"Oh...fine," Mikayla returned, a distracted smile on her face.

"The thread you requested, yes?" asked Liselle as she presented a spool of light purple.

"Yes, thank you," she replied, rummaging in her coin purse. When she looked up, Zevran was perusing the oils behind Liselle. She gulped, distractedly paid, and stood dumb for a moment. Liselle kissed him on both cheeks in greeting and jealousy pitted Mikayla's stomach. The merchant then left him to his shopping.

He must have felt eyes on him; after looking around, his gaze fell on Mikayla and he smiled. But oddly, he looked around again. Too delighted to wonder, she crossed to him and said hello.

"Ah, Mikayla, what brings you to the market today, hm?"

"I, um, I'm getting the thread I forgot to get last night."

"More sewing?" he asked, his brow cocked in a playful chide.

She smiled but didn't answer. "What are you here for?"

"Ah," he said, holding up a vial of lavender oil, "My plant needs time to grow back. Liselle keeps me supplied in the mean time."

Mikayla noted the spot where the vial came from. "How long does it take?"

"A week, more or less," he replied. His tiredness was preventing him from thinking of ways to continue the conversation. Or rather, to steer it toward 'business' since Ignacio's tail, Desmond, was not being clever in his stalking of him.

"So...when I see you next weekend..." she began shyly.

A corner of his mouth slowly curved upward, "...Earlier than last time, if you please." Then he took her hand, kissed it, and said, "I would like more time with you, my dear."

She knew, in the middle of everything in the broad daylight, her ears were redder than a Chanter's sash...and she didn't care.

"Until then," he said, offering her his vial of lavender, "have this, on me." He paused then admonished good-naturedly, "And remember to stretch often, hm?"

Salivating, she took it and blushed her thanks.

After she left and he paid Liselle for the vials (with a couple questions regarding the Tears), he waved to Desmond and winked. "_'Business or pleasure' but not _'neither'_, my friend_," he thought.


	8. Chapter 8

-1-

After the others were done with their pre-Chantry scurrying in and out of his 'room', Soris was finally able to plop on his bed (the living room couch) and 'ice' his eye. He wanted to get the mage-frozen peas from the ice chest before now. But he didn't want to venture into the pantry (aka Shianni's room) lest he awaken _her_ ire. With Shianni, Mikayla, and Cyrion gone, he could go raid it in peace then sleep on the couch for a little while before their return.

"If you didn't stay out so late with Slim, you could be among the living, Soris," Shianni scolded as they walked in the door. "_Ugh, back already?_" he thought then said, "Just leave me alone," and rolled from his back onto his uninjured side.

"**No, Soris!** This is a consequence of your bullheadedness. Get up, bring your peas, and have lunch," she lectured. Then she paused mid-stride and demanded, "Why are you suddenly caring about your appearance anyway? Finally realized that you're getting married?"

"_No. ...It's so I can afford __**not**__ to_," he thought. He didn't answer her but begrudgingly pulled himself up and blearily followed her and the others into the kitchen.

Shianni had made her 'Denerim rabbit' stew; it wasn't bad so long as he didn't think about how it was actually made with rat meat. Soris held the bag of peas to his face and slurped his meal in silence while the others chattered about wedding arrangements. Despite his sleep-deprivation, he noted that Mikayla wasn't pestering Cyrion about her match like previous weeks.

"So...flowers. Did you put the order in with Liselle yesterday?" Shianni asked Mikayla.

"...No. Not yet."

"**Mikayla!** She's not open today! When-"

"I'll do it next weekend," Mikayla interrupted, spooning her stew.

"A week before! That's going to be expens-"

"We'll manage, Shianni," interjected Cyrion, affectionately squeezing his only child's shoulder.

With Shianni's annoyed focus on Mikayla (for once), Soris tried to sneak away so he could wash his dirty leathers in preparation for the Tears job.

"And where are you going?" she asked, condemningly.

Caught, he winced at the sharpest of her voice then scowled. He muttered, "Laundry," and kept limping away toward the ice chest.

Mikayla said, impressed, "Wow...what's gotten into you?"

Soris threw the peas into the chest, turned and yelled, "**Do I have to explain ****_everything_**** I do?** I wouldn't have to do laundry if your _**boyfriend**_hadn't landed me in the mud!" He crossed back to the living room to get his gear.

Also caught, in a way, Mikayla turned white and flustered, "**I- but-**".

Cyrion finally chided, finishing his stew, "Children, don't fight. This is the Maker's day so be kind to each other, please. _'Blessed are the peacekeepers'_..."

Shianni had opened her mouth to question Mikayla about this 'Pearl masseur' of hers. Instead, she stilled her tongue and raised her brow. Mikayla dodged her silent accusation by clearing their bowls and washing them in the kitchen basin.

Soris thought, slamming the back porch door behind him, "_They never give me a moment's peace. ...Better rest up at Alys- I mean- Clara's tonight._"

-2-

Herren snorted awake when the bell above the door rang. He peeled his eyes open then startled. "_A customer!_" he thought, quickly straightening his clothes and clearing his throat. "Welcome back. Interested in fine armor?"

Soris sheepishly entered the hot, sooty shop, replying, "Uh...no...not today."

Instantly Herren's posture slackened and, without further acknowledgement, he began the futile effort of dusting. Wade continued to idly stoke his forge's coals.

Soris asked, presenting the dirt-caked garments, "Do, um...do you guys clean leather? I can p-"

"**Clean leather? ****_Clean leather?!_** Is _this_ what I've been reduced to?" Wade shrieked his disgust.

Springing back to his professional pleasantness, Herren defended, "Wade, the _customer_ is always right, remember?" Then to Soris he said, "That isn't a..._standard_...service of his but," he looked at Wade and continued, "Wade will happily assist you."

"No, I will not," he said, the pout in his voice evident. "Do you not know how? Shake off the dirt, dab with soapy water, and rinse-"

Herren groaned. Toward Soris (but at Wade), he said, "...Nice doing business with you," and went back to dusting.

Soris stood for a moment, shifting his glance from one to other of them. Apparently he had been dismissed. "Thanks," he said, then thought, "_I guess_," and left.

After nicking some soap from the laundress Goldanna next door, Soris cleaned his leathers with water from the Chantry's well, then crossed back to the Alienage. He didn't want to go home.

"_Where can I-...I know, I'll use one of Alarith's herb drying lines_," he decided. Soris climbed onto Alarith's roof and sneaked into the shopkeep's small greenhouse. He was relieved he didn't have to break in until he realized why; "What are you doing here, lad?" said Alarith.

Soris watched as Alarith tied various herbs to one of the many twines draping from the rafters. "I, uh, well...can I hang these here?" he asked.

Alarith looked over his shoulder with a raised brow; he honestly suspected Soris was there to steal something. "I suppose," he replied, gesturing with his head where Soris could do so. After hanging his things, Soris stood to face Alarith, whose face was partly obscured by his drying wares.

"Thanks for fixing me up the other day," said Soris, reaching in his pocket and offering Alarith its contents, "That's 20 silver...I'll-, I'll get the rest when I can."

The shopkeep peaked between the herbs to look Alarith in the eye. "Keep it," he stated.

"**But-**" started Soris.

"...You don't need to try so hard to be tough or clever. It only gets you into trouble," said Alarith, resuming his work. Before Soris was done processing what he meant, Alarith said, "Come into the shop when you are ready to get them. I'll let you in."

Sensing he was dismissed yet again, Soris stuffed his money back in his pocket and said, "Yeah...thanks," and ducked under the herbs to leave.

"If you want a job, all you have to do is ask," called Alarith.

Soris' pride didn't allow him to respond and, honestly, he was annoyed at himself that he hadn't previously thought to ask. "_...After tonight...I won't need one_," he thought.

-3-

_That evening._

Zevran couldn't help but criticize the other man's technique as he tailed Soris around the market square. With some of the shops closed today by their more religious owners, following him around the smaller market crowd had been easy...and a bit boring.

He suspected he and his information supplier 'Slim' would rendezvous soon but he hadn't seen the plump man at his usual post. Zevran had seen him numerous times but hadn't given him any thought. Now that the Crow knew what he was about, running him 'out of business' wouldn't be hard. "_Too predictable_," he thought.

The Chantry bell chimed and the elves in the square either left for their master's to prepare dinner or to return to the Alienage. Soris was of the latter category. With a quick check over his shoulder, Zevran ducked into the shadows to cloak then continued following Soris. He was surprised that Soris went to Alarith's; while Zevran suspected he was a 'chemist', the shopkeep seemed too smart to involve this amateur with his business. "_Is Slim the ring leader...or the shopkeep?_" he wondered.

Soon, however, Soris was back outside with what appeared to be a bundle of something. He also looked annoyed. Zevran speculated it was a 'delivery' but, curiously, Soris went straight to his home instead of back to the market to meet with Slim. "_What are you up to?_" he wondered.

Looking at the Tabris' house, Zevran noticed a warm glow in one of the windows. "_Meeting Slim in your __**home**__?_" he thought. Shaking his head at their strategy, he moved in the shadows toward the lighted window.

-4-

_Slightly earlier, same evening._

"See you later, Mikayla," called Shianni as they left the house. She and Cyrion were off to their respective jobs to work the dinner shift. Mikayla nodded and continued to grate her work clothes on the washboard. After a few more dunks, scrubs, and rinses, she hung up her things and wiped her brow. Her hair stuck to her sweaty neck and she congratulated herself that she had the foresight to boil water for a post-laundry bath.

After lighting a few candles, she tested the boiled water she had previously poured into the bathtub with her fingers. "_Cool enough_," she thought and began to disrobe. Down to her knickers she realized, "_...Soris is probably pickpocketing in the market...so...I have the house to myself._" She wrapped a towel around herself (just in case), crossed to her room, and got the lavender oil Zevran had given her from the nightstand drawer.

Back in the bathroom, she unstopped the vial and breathed it in; the smell of it conjured memories of his tattooed muscles flexing over her. She swallowed, added the oil to the steaming water, removed her remaining clothes, and got in the tub.

She sighed and leaned her head back, the fragrant water warming her tired flesh. Her mind savored the recollection of his hands' strength. She felt again his firm grip on her shoulders and back. But, unlike her previous reality, she allowed herself to imagine him continuing down her body and...between her legs.

The water rippled and gently ebbed with her squirming. She reminded herself that she was alone as she lathered her skin with soap. Slowly she moved her hand beneath the water down her stomach, hip, and mound. Her other hand groped her breast like she wanted him to. She tilted her head further and arched her back. In her imagination, he was centering himself to enter her while bracing against the tub, his nipple rings just out of reach from her mouth. Stroking within herself, she pictured herself pulling him forward and flicking one with her tongue before tugging gently on it with her teeth and sucking on his erect nipple. His hands were rocking her hips, causing the water to splash rhythmically. She felt the skin of her chest flush and ears burn. Jutting her chin toward the ceiling, a whimper escaped her mouth as she crested. Then, coming back down, she smiled slightly with closed eyes.

Outside the bathroom window, Zevran breathed heavily as he watched her. He lusted her form, visible through the mostly clear soapy water and in the candlelight.

Soris wanted to slam the front door as he thought, "_If Alarith is too good for my money, fine. I'll add it to the pile for Clara and me. It'll weight me down tonight anyway._" After emptying stolen coin purses from his pockets, Soris craned on his hands and knees for the loose floorboard under the couch and pried it open.

Mikayla heard floorboards creaking in the living room and startled. "_Soris wouldn't miss stealing from the merchants as they leave the market_," she thought. Zevran furrowed his brows and he guessed correctly the cause: "_Cousin..._," he thought, resentfully.

He wanted badly to find someway to be with her right then. But with no design coming to him and with 'Soris the Liability' to deal with, he elected to continue with the night's chore. With painful reluctance, he memorized her every curve as she hurriedly dressed then turned to wait for Soris to exit the house.


End file.
